


Trapped in Dark Corners

by DeathDirt



Category: overwatch
Genre: Angst, Capture trope, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Not entirely anyway, Third Party Bad Guys, in case it’s not clear widow reap and Doom are all together, minor appearances from Sigma and Moira, tw for minor alcoholism later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 10:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20080846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: How To Rescue Your Eldritch Horror Boyfriend, a novel by Widowmaker and Doomfist....With sidenotes from Sigma and Moira.M-rating is just for blood and some Extreme Makeout later on.





	Trapped in Dark Corners

**Author's Note:**

> Good titles? On MY fic? Hahahahaha
> 
> Anyway, I feel like I write/make ideas with way too much emphasize on Reaper + other boys and I really see him as a hardcore bisexual. Idk what I mean when I say hardcore, but you probably do. Anyway, this is a weird thing I banged out in like three days, lmk what I can do to make it better/easier to read because it is *gasp* un-BETA’D?!?!?!
> 
> So, enjoy!

“Reaper, duck.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate, simply smokes and falls low to the ground so Widowmaker can take her shot. The blast rings out through the empty air of Lagos, followed shortly by the thud of a dead body right behind his back. Reaper carefully lifts his arm to see that the small metal box is undamaged. He’s still quite a ways from the stealth ship, and he can’t afford to smoke too much, or else he risks the tech getting damaged inside the box. And like hell is the fucking Reaper going to fail a mission because of a fucking box.

He takes off again, beelining for the ship, when static sounds in his ear. “What? Widowmaker, you’re cutting out,” he growls into his comm, angry now that he has to do this half-blind. More static floods his comm. _Whatever_, he thinks to himself, _It isn’t that far away. I’ll just have to tell R&D later._ He continues on, boots thudding against the pavement as he runs through the back alley slums of Lagos. He makes a few unnecessary turns, because he doesn’t want to lead his pursuers directly to the ship and risk it getting shot down before it can take off. Static has become a near constant in his ear now, probably Widow trying to make contact somehow. It’s not pleasant, but it’s bearable.

Reaper turns the next corner, knows he’s near the stealth ship, when suddenly there’s shots from up ahead. Flares of muzzle flash spark, lighting the walls of the alley like lightning. Reaper turns and immediately runs back the way he came, hoping that the shots are at something stupid. He’s used to the occasional fuck up and having to hide in the underbelly of a city for days or weeks until it was safe to move out, but he would really rather not do it so close to Gibraltar while the new Overwatch was kicking up dust. So he turns at every alley, doubles back at the third and the sixth turn, quickly sprints across a busy highway just for good measure. There’s horns honking behind him and bullets _plink_ing the ground at his heels, but Reaper keeps running. The static vanished as he ran across the street but only momentarily. It’s back again now with a vengeance, buzzing in his ears like thousands of angry hornets. 

He has half a mind to tear the damn comm out, but he can’t. If Widowmaker makes successful contact, Reaper needs to be able to reply, so he’ll deal with the incessant noise. 

Although the gunshots and following thuds have disappeared behind him, Reaper keeps running. He has to get even with the stealth ship on this side of the street and then wait for the tech company’s “security” to catch up. They don’t even try to hide the fact that they’re employing gang members with bounties nearing the millions of dollars. Unfortunate that nobody’s going to be able to collect it if Reaper gets to them first. He quickly swings around a corner, now facing the same highway from just a few minutes before. There’s a dumpster sitting against one wall, and he dives for the cover, crouching on the other side where he won’t be visible from the back of the alley. He pulls out a small device, no more than a GPS really, that should show exactly where he is and how close the ship is. Reaper blinks at the small screen.

It’s static. Nothing but a mess of black and white. Reaper hits the side button to recalibrate it, yet nothing. Reaper grunts, shoving the square back into his pocket. Now that it’s useless, he has to figure out how to get to the ship from here. It’s not difficult, just unfortunate. Tech makes everything easier, but Reaper spent far too long with unreliable tech while fighting the Omnics to forget how to do things the old fashioned way. 

He looks up and down the street, timing the street lights down a half mile either way. There’s no sign of the security, which doesn’t make Reaper feel any more safe. They may not be anywhere close, but they’re certainly still there. Reaper huffs as he watches the street. Cars zoom past, a few people walk by, unconcerned with what they probably think is a homeless druggie. Reaper waits. He can hear the faint thud of combat boots from the alley.

Immediately he bolts across the empty street, ignoring the blaring horn of another car that would have hit him if he didn’t think to quickly duck underneath, and crawls the rest of the way across. Back on the other side of the street, the armed men and women fire towards him. Reaper ducks again, but not quite fast enough this time. One bullet lodged in his shoulder. It sends pain shooting down his arm, and he nearly drops the tech. Reaper grits his teeth and pushes through it, running while he has the chance. The stealth ship is close, he knows exactly how much farther it is. One turn and a moment of running should be it.

It should have been.

Before he can even get to the first intersecting alley, half a dozen guards jump from either side of the next alley. Reaper huffs, turns to try to get away, but the dozen that had been tailing him were blocking the only other way out. No fire escape, no back door, nothing. Reaper glances back and forth, weighing his options quickly before he decides that the less resistance the better. There weren’t any guns on the six that were between Reaper and the ship, so he runs straight for them. He expects them to jump out of the way, but they stay firmly in place, and Reaper feels his nanites separate, ghosts-

Into them?

He smacks solidly into the first body rather than smoking, and the moment of confusion is enough for the guards to jump him. Smoke monster or not, however, Reaper still has decades of war, black ops, and super soldier serum pumping through his body. He straightens up, flipping the first guard onto their back, then punches the next squarely in the throat. That’s only two, though, and the dozen coming up from behind are advancing quickly. Reaper only has a moment to think about how cocky these assholes are before he feels his entire body seize and drop like a bag of rocks. “Fuck!” He growls. The electricity coursing through his muscles is nearly unbearable, and it’s fucking with his nanites, causing smoke to slough off, but then it just...hangs. Motionless in the air, yet it still floods from his mouth, his body, anywhere it could come off.

Reaper can open his eyes enough to see that a net was tossed over him, and somehow _that_ is what has him on his knees. But it’s more than the net, it has to be. He can hear the security laughing above him. “Good trick, huh?” One of the guards says. It’s Yoruba, and it takes longer than it should for Reaper to understand but he can get it. “Took this one down fast enough,” another one says, kicking Reaper’s flank to make him drop. He can’t move. Can’t believe that it’s this shit that’s finally taken him out.

The last thought before he blacks out is of Widowmaker, just hoping she made it to the ship safely. She isn’t indestructible, after all.

But. As it seems, neither is the Reaper.

——

“We must speak. Now.” Akande frowns. Widowmaker has just returned from a mission and she seems absolutely livid. Her piercing yellow eyes almost shimmer with the force of her tenacity. Moira glares, but it does not throw Widowmaker away from her quarry. Nothing can. Akande sighs. “Continue for now. I’ll be back soon,” he instructs, and the low din of conversation fills the council hall once again. He follows Widowmaker out the door, and her demeanor seems to change immediately now that she is out of sight of the council. Distraught, almost, but in an angry, disgusted way. 

“We lost him,” she says, leaning with one hand against the opposite wall. “Him, Amélie?” Akande questions. He doesn’t have time for vague accusations, so he begins to step back to the council hall, except the look Widowmaker fixes on him makes Akande still. “Gabriel,” she whispers, “They took him.” Akande falters, only for a split second though. “How? Why? What-“

“I do not know. I had him in sight the whole way, during the retrieval, then after, and then he vanished. Simply gone. I tried to contact him, and nothing. I searched with the pilot and we found his communicator with the tech in an alley a few meters from the ship. I cannot say how they could have done it.” Widowmaker glares at the wall for a moment before she turns back to her superior. “But they were obviously more interested in Gabriel than whatever was in that box.” Akande thinks that it would be odd for a technology development company to be after someone with the reputation of Reaper. Then a thought strikes him. “What was in the box that you retrieved, Amélie?” He asks. Widowmaker throws her hands up. “I don’t know, myself. Nguyen seemed to find it interesting, he has been holed up with it since we returned. I told him to report to me if he found anything worthwhile,” she replies. 

Akande stands still for a moment. “Go down, get whatever information you can from Nguyen. I will handle the council and wait with one of our ships.” Widowmaker nods, setting off with her heels clicking against the floor. She isn’t sure what she feels, but it’s something akin to worry. Perhaps she’s just attached to Gabriel, since their arrangement may as well be free sex but it’s so much more than that. He makes her feel. More than anybody else can say. And...perhaps...she loves him. For one reason or another. But they both do, her and Akande. They love him.

And really, as Widowmaker demands the information from Nguyen and tells him to keep her and Akande updated on what he finds, she realizes that she’s worried because this is never the way it would go. She never expected, of the three of them, for _Gabriel_ to be kidnapped. Akande or herself, certainly - they’re good at what they do, deadly and brutal, but they can’t become smoke, can’t heal themselves from the wounds of others. But Gabriel being captured was always such an impossibility. Now that it’s happened, Widowmaker doesn’t know what to think. For now, she settles her mind on one thing, which is getting Gabriel safely back to the base.

As he said, Akande is waiting in the hangar with one of the smallest drop ships Talon had. He is in his usual combat wear - the gauntlet, hand cannon, and loose pants - but tossed something in his left hand. Widowmaker raises a brow at it, but gets no response as Akande steps into the ship. Sitting on the other side are Sigma and Moira, both silent while the other two board. The pilot already knows where to fly to, as she doesn’t wait for any instruction before taking off. Akande and Amélie sit while the pilot silently flies, contemplating their actions. “The company, Alliance, is based in Shanghai,” Akande begins. He tends to think to himself when something goes wrong, so Amélie listens. “But that is not to say that they would be keeping Gabriel there. Since they captured him in Lagos, they would likely not take him far.” Akande grabs a data pad that was sitting in the seat next to him and pulls up a map. “This is where you said you found Gabriel’s communicator, yes?” A red marker sits where Amélie had told him she found the things. She nods, glances over to see Sigma suddenly watching them very closely. Moira still looks unconcerned as she taps at her own tablet. “There are a few publicly known warehouses in the area,” Akande continues, “But there are also more that are owned by local gangs being paid off by Alliance. He’s likely in one of them.” Amélie nods. She wonders what this company could have done if they were able to capture Gabriel.

She also wonders whose head she’ll enjoy blowing off more - the lackey that captured him or the CEO who devised the plan.

——

Electric shocks weren’t new. He’d gotten kidnapped a handful of times as Blackwatch Commander and electricity just isn’t anything he hasn’t dealt with before. But the way it keeps his nanites from functioning any more than their base level was beyond aggravating. They would begin to smoke, freeze midair, then drift right back down to his body. Gabriel saw people walk past once or twice, heard something about an electromagnet when one of them stopped in front of the door he was trapped behind.

That at least explained why his comm wouldn’t work. Gabriel nestles as far down as he dares into his coat, pulling the garment over his shoulders. The room is cold, and with his nanites almost nonfunctional, it’s difficult to warm up. It’s a small room, probably not even eight feet square, concrete on all sides, with one chair in the center. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the room is for. 

The handle of the door jitters. Gabriel braces himself, curling tighter and pulling his coat farther onto his chest. He stares ahead as the door opens, revealing a big, burly man with Alliance’s uniform on - no surprise there - followed shortly by a woman, rail thin with a lab coat over the uniform. Not unlike Moira, really. Gabriel glares while they go about their work, as though he wasn’t in the room at all. “Marvelous, isn’t it?” The smaller one says suddenly. “How a simple bit of electricity is all it takes to bring the mighty Reaper to his knees. Or do you go by your old name? The traitor, Gabriel Reyes?” From the knowing glint of her green eyes, Gabriel knows that he’s being toyed with. She’s trying to get a reaction out of him. 

“Can you not speak?” She asks, tone sharp. She kneels in front of Gabriel, tilting his chin up with the end of a scalpel. “You must be every bit the monster everyone claims you are. It is truly my pleasure to tear you apart and show the world that you can be recreated. And if not, then I suppose there was an..._accident_ after all. But first...” She rolls her eyes at seemingly nothing, straightening, then gestures flippantly to Gabriel on the floor. The second Alliance employee grabs Gabriel by the hair and pulls him off the ground, dragging him to the chair. He nearly throws Gabriel into it and locks him in before he has a chance to move. Gabriel scoffs a bit as what looks like black wire is wrapped around his wrists, ankles, torso, and neck. “Didn’t think this was a kink factory,” he jeers, and is pleasantly surprised when the woman seems to flush. “That is what makes you talk? Demeaning those who have you very, _very_ vulnerable? You must realize that without the function of your nanites, even an untreated cut can mean your death,” she quickly jets off. She’s obviously uncomfortable with the kink comment. 

And obviously oblivious to how many buttons Gabriel Reyes can push at one time. “Please,” he scoffs, “If you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me when you figured out I couldn’t heal myself. I think you just wanted to be the next Moira O’Deorain without the associated time and effort. And brains.” The woman flushes deeper, but doesn’t just stand by this time. First she makes a gesture to her coworker, who gives Gabriel a hard punch to the face. It’s the first one he can remember feeling since SEP. Not having the nanites to heal every little bump was apparently a bigger adjustment than he thought. “Do you see this?” The woman thrusts a small circular device in front of his face. “You will live and die by this. Do you understand?” Gabriel, more than a little irked at being taken for a mindless soldier, spits in the woman’s face. He chuckles while she rubs furiously at the wet spot on her cheek. 

She growls at his easy laughter. “In that case...” She mutters, turning the circular center of the device this way and that until she’s satisfied. “Where is Talon’s hub?” She asks, back straight. Gabriel can only contain his laughter for a moment before practically exploding with it. The two Alliance employees glance at each other, confused. “Good fucking god, you must be delusional,” Gabriel chokes out between peals of laughter. “You think I’m just going to tell you where Talon’s base of operations is? And even if I did, what’re you gonna do, storm the place? With what?” Gabriel snickers again, and trapped though he is, he has no issues laughing in their faces now that he knows what they want. 

The woman frowns. She looks down at the device, then back at Gabriel, a wide, sharp-toothed grin spreading across her face. “Test one,” she says smoothly. Gabriel is taken aback by this easy dismissal of his own disrespect until his body is seized with electricity. It courses through every muscle, forced him into a rigid posture that really didn’t feel pleasant in the slightest. His jaw was clenched, every muscle straight as steel I-beams. And as it ended, Gabriel shakes his head.

_This is going to be a long couple of days,_ he thinks to himself.

——

A week. A week of breaking into one warehouse after the next, one shady, run down bar after another, and still nothing. Moira, Sigma, and Widowmaker have no complaint, but Akande is growing restless. He is more and more concerned with each passing day that they won’t find Gabriel before he’s toted off to a maximum-security prison, like Helix or far worse. Even the world’s brightest shining beacons had their dark sides; Gabriel was proof enough of that. Akande has no doubt that if any of the UN got a hold of Reaper, they would subject him to whatever torture they could conjure up. Because who would question what the UN did? Surely they would never dream of such horrors.

But they did. Akande knew that they did, knew that none of them would bat an eyelash at hurting, demeaning, and destroying someone the general public saw as a threat. Moreso if they learned that the Reaper was the presumed-dead Gabriel Reyes, a man who had collectively spit in their faces more times than any of them cared for. So it was imperative to find where he was held sooner rather than later.

Sombra and Nguyen did what they could to decipher the data contained within the parcel that Alliance had left behind, as well as to locate the unmarked warehouses of Alliance’s more unsavory business partners. The next one, Sombra had said, looked promising. 

_”It’s a bit of a long shot, but it’s the only other place in the area where he’d be,” she said, nails tapping at a keyboard. “It’s sixty miles north-east of Lagos, on the outskirts of Ibadan. It should look pretty new, upscale. Security is gonna be iffy, I’ll do my best to get into their private network and see what their roster looks like, that’ll give me a better idea. Either way, there’s some shady shit down there, _jefe_, don’t think there isn’t. The floor plan is way fucked up. Even so, he’s probably in the first floor. I don’t think they’d risk him escaping and being able to jump out of a two story window without anyone to follow him. Start there, and I’ll keep you updated.”_

This was the best lead they’d had so far. If Gabriel wasn’t in this location, it was difficult to say where he _could_ be. Without any way to communicate, it would be impossible to get a proper lead on Gabriel’s location. Hopefully this would be the last place they had to search.

“We’re coming up to the warehouse!” The pilot calls back. “Prepare for drop!” Moira and Sigma both rise and wait by the back of the drop ship, where the ramp is currently closed. Widowmaker gives her rifle a short inspection before taking her place by the ramp as well. They’ve done this so often over the past week that they don’t even bother discussing the plan anymore. Air rushes past as the ramp opens, blasting the four of them with the cool humidity of the night. They wait for the pilot. “Alright, we’re down low! Eight feet, but this is as far as I can get!” Doomfist takes the first leap, landing heavily on the earth below. Sigma is right after, silent in his descent, and then Moira. Widowmaker stayed on the ship, able to provide cover fire, just in case Alliance realizes they’re getting hit. It’s unlikely though; the previous facilities were all woefully unprepared to handle a proper assault from Talon, and they all fell before so much as a warning shot could’ve fired. 

The dropship lands farther away from the warehouse, no less than seventy meters. They’ll contact the pilot if they find Gabriel, but for now, it’s better for the ship to stay more off to the side, out of sight. Sombra said that if Gabriel was here, he’d be on the first floor. Entry wouldn’t be a problem, then.

Doomfist rears back his gauntlet, clenches his fist to charge the weapon, holds it while Sigma deploys his barrier for he and Moira to crouch behind, and finally, let it fly. The concrete wall offers little resistance to the gauntlet. Doomfist brushes the dust and debris from his shoulders while Sigma and Moira move in behind him, and it seems they were lucky enough to land in a hallway rather than any kind of holding cell. There’s a sudden rush of boots echoing from down the hall, so it seems Alliance was more prepared this time. “Stay,” Doomfist shouts to the other two, “Protect our exit. I will find what I can.” He is hopeful that it includes Gabriel this time, but knows better than to cling too tightly to it.

Every door he sees, Doomfist opens, forcefully. There isn’t much that he can find worthwhile at first - some rooms that were stacked floor to ceiling with all manner of drug, a few that were small and cramped and probably meant as holding cells, one room that held some scientific machines that were dusty and likely hadn’t been used in years. It was nearly halfway around the building, though, that Doomfist found what he was looking for. There is a single guard outside, directly in front of the door, but this is the only door that’s had anyone protecting it. A loud thud comes from inside, then muffled yelling. Doomfist readies his gauntlet.

The door suddenly slams open, protesting the harsh treatment on its screeching hinges. “Keep him...keep him in here,” the woman who bursted from the door shakily demanded. She slams the door shut as forcefully as she opened it, then rushes off in the other direction. 

It’s incredible how stupid some people can be in a crisis.

The guard was wholly unprepared for the gauntlet that flew towards them. They slammed into the wall behind them, sending a spiderweb of cracks spreading across the concrete. Doomfist doesn’t even bother searching the moaning guard, just rips the door from its hinges and flings it to the side. He steps into the room.

His breath halts in his chest. The room itself is nothing special, four walls of concrete and a single chair bolted to the floor. But against the far wall is what Doomfist has hoped not to find. Gabriel is slumped in the corner, wrapped in his muddy black trench coat, dried blood spilling over his lips and poorly applied bandages peeking from beneath his clothing. He looks almost like he’s sleeping. Doomfist nearly stumbles over his own feet as he rushes to Gabriel. He’s never seen his lover in such a state, not even when he was part of Overwatch. His immediate thought is to wake Gabriel, but he hacks and coughs himself awake before Doomfist has the chance. 

“Nrgh, what now? Y’ jus’ left, fuckin’ bitch...” he mutters, pulling his coat tighter around himself. “No, Gabriel. Open your eyes,” Doomfist commands, gently. Gabriel turns his head to look at what he probably assumes is another wave of torture, but even with one eye nearly swollen shut, his face lights up when he sees his lover leaning over him. “Akande!” Gabriel lurches up, weakly squeezing Doomfist’s neck in as tight of an embrace as he can manage. “Fuck, babe, could you have taken a little longer?” Gabriel teases. He digs his nails into Doomfist’s back while he lifts Gabriel from the floor. 

Gabriel burrows into Akande’s chest, and despite his bloody and battered appearance, he almost looks happy curled against his rescuer. Doomfist shifts his grip so he can press the button on the comm in his ear. “I’ve found him,” he says into it, “But he needs attention, immediately.” There’s no reply, but even so, Doomfist knows that Sigma and Moira won’t be far from their entrance. He starts off down the hallway, running with Gabriel clutched to his chest, ducking or slamming any stray guards that happen upon his path. 

As expected, Sigma and Moira are fighting the wave of guards attempting to push through. What is unexpected, however, is the short line of guards blocking Doomfist from his exit. At first, he crouches, ready to sit Gabriel against the wall and fight through the guard if they chose to advance. But he doesn’t get the chance, as debris flies through the air and smacks the line down. “Come along now,” Sigma beckons, throwing his hyperspheres down the corridor, where they blasted another handful of guards. Doomfist runs over the downed line of guards, then immediately out, in desperate need to have Gabriel on the dropship and tended to. “Barrier’s coming down!” Sigma shouts from the building. Doomfist scowls at the inconvenience. As Sigma and Moira emerge from the building, they are both followed by another horde of guards. That being said, the group is small compared to the last two. 

Doomfist quickly hands Gabriel over to Sigma, yells over his shoulder, “Keep him safe!”, and dives straight into the enemy. He doesn’t hold anything back, simply beats down every blue-outfitted guard that stood in his way. They screamed, they fell, and they stayed there. Doomfist glances behind him to see Sigma and Moira carefully retreating, eyes on the building. Doomfist turns back to see what remained of the guard, but there was nobody. Until a figure stepped over the motionless bodies. “It’s a shame I didn’t believe the wretch when he told me you’d look for him,” it says, tone snide and demeaning. It’s a woman, Doomfist sees after the dust settles, with sharp green eyes and short-cropped brown hair. “But, I suppose I had too much..._fun_ to take him seriously.” She holds up a small, circular device, and depresses a button on the center of it. Doomfist braces for an explosion, impact, something of that sort. Instead, there’s a confused shout behind him. Doomfist looks back.

Sigma is clutching his wrist like he’s been burned while Gabriel writhed on the ground. The scientist tries to pick him back up, but cries out again. Moira has a try of it, gritting her teeth and locking her hands around Gabriel’s arms, yet nothing. 

Doomfist doesn’t appreciate the game.

Without warning, a loud gun shot rings through the area. Doomfist looks at the woman, who has dropped, face in open surprise with a hole situated perfectly between her eyes. When he looks back, Gabriel has settled on the ground, and Sigma successfully picks him up this time, murmuring what is probably an apology as he floats back to the ship, Moira close behind. There may be some involved cleanup for this, but for now, Doomfist decides that this is enough. 

He is the last one to reach the ship, and it takes off the moment he steps in. Moira is already at work, cutting odd black wires from Gabriel’s wrists, ankles, and neck while Sigma stands by, retrieving whatever the dear medic demands. Widowmaker is still near the closed ramp, watching, seemingly impassive, while Moira tends to her subject. After a moment, she sits by Doomfist, across from where Moira stood, tending to Gabriel, and the two of them watch, hardly daring to breathe as the doctor did her work.

——

Gabriel’s only mildly upset that he can still count how many bottles of liquor he’s downed in the past eight hours. It’s all hard shit, vodka and whiskey and maybe half a bottle of tequila he stole from Sombra’s private stash. Really, none of it should be drunk on its own, but Gabriel doesn’t care much. He’s fresh out of the lab and not really interested in seeing anybody but his good pal Jim Beam. There’s a vague concern in the back of his head that he had a council meeting to go to so they could discuss how he got kidnapped but Gabriel just wasn’t in the mood for the council. They’re a bunch of old pricks that are concerned with money. Gabriel feels like he ditched the UN just to go right back to them. Half the faces he saw at United Nations conferences were actually _in_ Talon’s council, so it’s not a stretch.

The door to his room hisses open. Gabriel peeks to see both Akande and Amélie at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and apparently pissed off. “Wow. Aren’t I special?” Gabriel grumbles, throwing back another mouthful of whiskey. Akande and Amélie glare harder, if such a thing is possible. “You were supposed to attend today’s council meeting,” Akande says simply, but the edge of command in his voice reveals just how he feels about being ignored. Gabriel huffs, “So what? The council’s full of shitheads and jackasses, why add another into the mix?”

As he goes to take another drink from his bottle, Amélie comes to the side of the bed and snatches it away, slamming it down on the bedside table. Gabriel eyes it for a moment, wondering if maybe he can convince them to forget the issue with some _persuasive_ talent, but he can’t think on it for too long because they don’t give him an inch of space. Akande fists Gabriel’s hoodie and drags him upright. “Why did you not come as I asked?” He demands. His honey-gold eyes cut right into Gabriel’s unnatural red until he smokes away, reforming by the bathroom door. “I thought I got wiggle room,” Gabriel mutters, because it’s a really weak excuse. He just didn’t want to bother, or so he’s convinced himself.

Amélie rounds the bed again, looking for all the world like she’s about to use Gabriel as target practice for her perfect aim. Before she can get to him, he shuts himself in the bathroom, slumping to the floor in a huff. He hears the two of them talking for a moment. Hopes for a moment that they’ll leave him alone. Then the door swings open once again. “You do realize I have access to an override code, Gabriel?” Akande looks almost smug as he says it, but even the achievement of being a step ahead of his petulant boyfriend is nowhere near enough to overcome the...whatever is on his face. Gabriel wants to say it’s anger but it clearly isn’t, he just wants an excuse to get the shit beaten out of him. 

Gabriel growls as he smokes away, flopping back against the headboard and crossing his arms like a child in a temper tantrum. “Fine! Fucking defile my privacy some more while you’re here! May as well,” he adds, grumbling as he tries to nestle into the thick blankets. Amélie looks like she’s about to really punch him - and Gabriel knows that that would hurt _worlds_ more than that babyface at the Alliance facility - except Akande puts a hand over her shoulder to gently hold her back. She swings her head, mouth open to snap a protest, then pauses when Akande gestures towards Gabriel. She glances between the two men, unsure as to what she was expected to do. Akande brushes his thumb over her cheek, and she understands.

It’s the exact same touch he would give Gabriel when the two of them kissed. Amélie tries not to smile as Akande leans over her. She’s not that much shorter, but Akande is a big man. Gabriel lifts one eyebrow at the sudden affection. Although Amélie and Akande were more than happy to share Gabriel, they were a bit more indifferent towards each other, even if they all managed to get into the same bed together. He’s told them both about how much he loves seeing them kiss during scenes, how much he loves watching them act like a proper power couple. But they’ve never done it outside of a scene. 

The pale blue skin of Amélie’s hand contrasts sharply with the warm, dark skin of Akande’s pec. Like a cat, she kneads the flesh, the same way she’ll do to Gabriel when they get together. Gabriel pulls his arms against his chest; he can feel the sensation of it even with nothing there. Phantom touches ghosting across his skin. His cheeks get warm, is pretty sure that this is as close to blushing as he gets anymore, but the other two continue as if they don’t notice. Amélie tilts her head back just so, and they both moan into the other’s mouth. Akande slowly rubs one hand up the center of Amélie’s torso, up her neck, then gently tugs at the thick band holding her hair up. Gabriel scoffs from the bed - getting Amélie to let her hair down is like pulling teeth - except her hand comes over Akande’s and they each take a side and pull the band down and off.

Gabriel gulps down spit. He can’t stand it when Amélie lets her hair down, goes absolutely wild for the gorgeous deep purple when it’s allowed to be loose, and Akande’s gotten it down without more than a good makeout. He tries to look away, but his eyes keep drifting back to the other two. Now Akande is running his fingers through the length of Amélie’s hair, pausing to slowly rub his thumb over her ass every time he gets down there. When they part for air, they separate with wet sounds, moaning out loud even as they dive back in. This time, Amélie pushes Akande until he backs against the wall - less than five feet from Gabriel, where he can see _everything_. Amélie pushes one knee against the wall, pulls herself up to be level with Akande _holy fuck_, that is hot. Akande doesn’t even have to hold her there, Amélie is just keeping herself suspended like that while Akande gently squeezes her trim waist and then there’s a peek of candy pink tongues tangling in their mouths and-

Gabriel can’t take it any longer.

He jumps up, practically pulling Amélie off of Akande to put her a safe three feet away. “I get it! Fuck, you’re both hot! I fuck both of you, I don’t need to see that shit!” Gabriel yells, slumping back down to the bed. Amélie and Akande look at each other before breaking out into raucous laughter. Akande wipes a tear from one eye while Amélie coos, “Look at our pouty boy, Akande.” 

“I do not pout,” Gabriel grumbles, pouting. Akande and Amélie chuckle again as they take a seat on either side of Gabriel. They both take one of Gabriel’s hands, squeezing them and planting sultry, wet kisses on his neck. He’d melt if they weren’t holding him up. “Now,” Akande says, as though he _hadn’t_ just been shoving his tongue down one of his best assassins’ throat, and had hers in turn, “Would you like to tell us why you refused to come to the council meeting, Gabriel?”

Gabriel tugs his hands back and crosses his arms over his chest again. “It’s just... I don’t know.” He sighs heavily, shoulders sagging. “Reality check, I guess. It’s not like I haven’t been _seen_ as indestructible before this,” he explains, gesturing to himself, “But I guess I took it for granted. So when someone rolled up with this shit and I was so bloody and beaten that I could barely open my good eye without seeing blood dripping somewhere...” Gabriel makes a soft noise of distress. He pulls his feet up, situates himself on his knees and leans into Akande. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to admit that,” he mumbles. Gabriel curls both arms around Akande’s bicep, leaning heavily into his side. Akande’s free hand gently pets over Gabriel’s long hair. There’s no talk of fear yet, but Gabriel’s pretty sure he made it obvious what was wrong. Hopes that he did, because he really isn’t sure he can spell it out word for word.

“That’s fine, Gabriel,” Amélie says behind him. She soothes his nerves with a cool hand rubbing along his thigh and flank, all the way to his shoulder, then right back down to his knee. “We just need you to tell us,” she adds, pulling herself behind him to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Precisely,” Akande agrees, with another kiss on Gabriel’s other cheek.

“Yes, yes, I got it, you sappy motherfuckers,” he grumbles, though he’s smiling through it. 

They cuddle him for the rest of the day, quietly murmuring sweet nothings into his ear while Gabriel slowly relaxes further within his own head. He’s got a few new scars from this shit show, but at the very least, he also managed to get some wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend time, even if it took pulling emotional teeth to get it. 

Before he drifts off to sleep, he hears the two of them talking above his head, equally quietly. 

“_De beaux rêves, mon amour._”

“_Sun daada, olufẹ._”

**Author's Note:**

> The ending quotes, for those who are interested.
> 
> Widowmaker - Sweet dreams, my love.
> 
> Doomfist - Sleep well, dear.
> 
> I got these from Google translate please don’t hate me and if you know if these are incorrect, please tell me.


End file.
